Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 30 Jack

Chapter 30

Jack

Royal Yacht SS Gothic , South Pacific, December 1953

O live joined us for cards that night on the ship. She was a popular addition to our group, and we found ourselves laughing the night away. Mason and a few of the others joined in the stories we shared about our times at sea, and Olive entertained us with tales about some of the worst interviews she’d conducted for her job: rat-infested flats with negligent landlords, a new dog kennel opening, and a story on ladies’ hosiery. All the while, Olive crushed me at cards.

“She’s won again!” Max said. “You really need to catch up, Jack.”

“Beginner’s luck,” I said, tossing my hand on the pile in the middle of the table.

Olive laughed. “I don’t know what’s happening. I’ve always been hopeless at cards. It must be something about the sea air.”

“She’s certainly better than you, Jack,” Mason added, throwing his own cards on the pile.

“It’s late,” Max said, standing. “I’ll call it a night and hit the hay.”

“I’m exhausted, too,” Olive agreed, smothering a yawn. “I feel half dead with the time change.”

“I’ll walk you to your cabin,” I replied.

Mason nudged my leg, and we exchanged glances. I knew what he was thinking, but I wasn’t about to make advances toward Olive. For one thing, she didn’t view me that way—we were friends that had only just struck up an acquaintance again. For another, I wasn’t ready for any sort of romance. It had only been a year since I’d lost my darling wife, and it still felt as if only weeks and, sometimes, only hours had passed. Grief was sneaky that way.

We threaded through the narrow corridors and down a series of ladders until we reached Olive’s cabin.

“Thanks for tonight, Jack,” she said, turning to face me. “It’s been so nice seeing you like this.”

“Seeing me like what?”

“Smiling. Laughing.”

“It’s been a tough year,” I replied.

She laid her hand on my shoulder. “I can imagine.”

“Well, goodnight then,” I said. “Sleep well.”

She paused, studying my face for a moment. “And you, Jack.”

I turned to go, thinking about the look in her eye, and shook my head. It was still hard to believe she was here, but it was a welcome surprise to spend time with an old friend.

We were always good at being friends, Olive and me.

The following morning, the kitchen staff had a break for a couple of hours before we were needed in the kitchen again. I joined a few others on deck, hoping that perhaps Olive, too, would be there. Later that afternoon, she’d be off to follow the queen and her entourage around New Zealand for a few days, and then she’d return home. This would likely be the last time I saw her for many months.

And there she was, waving to me from near the railing. “Morning, Jack!”

“Good morning,” I said, my broad smile a mark of how pleased I was to see her. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a log! There’s something so soothing about the gentle list of the ship, isn’t there? I’ve never spent time at sea before.” She turned her face to the ocean, a contented smile on her lips. “I like it.”

She was pretty when she smiled. I’d forgotten that about her, the way her face lit up. I’d forgotten nearly everything from those few months we’d spent together in the giddy aftermath of war. It was nice to remember.

“The ocean gets under your skin,” I said. “A bit like food and cooking. Once you find a love for it, it’s hard to let go.”

She turned to face me, the early morning light casting a golden light onto her skin. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but her attention was caught by a noise behind us.

“Look at him.” She pointed to the Duke of Edinburgh. “He’s so alive out here on the water, don’t you think? Less rigid.”

Philip stood to one side, chatting with a few crew members. Everyone watched him intently, absorbed in his story, and after a moment, they all broke out into laughter.

“He is,” I replied. “I think part of him will always long to be at sea. We’ve had a few nice conversations about our time in the Navy.”

“You seem to be making quite a name for yourself here,” she said. “Audiences with the queen, and friendly with the duke.” She looked at me. “I’m pleased for you, Jack. You always said you would make something of yourself, and you certainly have.”

I was touched by her words, touched by the fact that she remembered the conversations we’d all had all those years ago, dreaming of our future lives. “Would you like to see what I’ve been doing?”

Her eyes filled with mirth. “I’d prefer to taste what you’ve been doing! I’m starving.”

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

She followed me down the ladder and through the narrow corridors to the galley kitchen, where I pulled several covered dishes out of the refrigerator and set them on a long stainless-steel countertop.

“I’ve been working on some of my recipes, for a cookbook I’m writing.”

“You’re writing a cookbook? I’m impressed! Will you try to have it published?”

“I doubt it will be good enough to be published. For now, I’m just having fun with it, and thinking about what I’d like to cook if I ever have my own restaurant.”

“Is that what you’d like to do?”

“Perhaps. I don’t have any immediate plans, but maybe one day.”

“I think that’s wonderful,” she replied, her tone earnest. “It’s important to have dreams.”

“Try this,” I said, dipping a spoon into a pot of gumbo I’d be serving for the staff dinner.

She clapped a hand over her mouth. “It’s spicy!”

“It’s not all that spicy. I’ve toned it down quite a lot, for the English palate.” My tone was sarcastic, but I found I was smiling. Again. It was a good day for smiling, it seemed. “Take another bite, with your eyes closed. Think about the flavors, and how they work together.”

She closed her amber eyes. “I taste sausage, or bacon, is it? Peppers and onion?”

“Good. What else?”

“Some kind of seafood. Shrimp?”

“And oysters.”

“There’s a richness to it, too, something I can’t name—but it’s delicious! Once you get past the hot pepper, that is.”

She licked the spoon and her lips. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

Next, she tried a brandied lobster cream sauce, pecan pesto, and the icing for a chocolate cinnamon buttermilk cake. She was a good sport and took her time to try and identify each flavor.

“I’ve never thought about food in terms of the separate ingredients,” she said. “You’re a great chef, Jack. I wish I had even half your talent.”

“You do,” I said. “In your reporting and writing.”

She shrugged. “I’m not talented enough to be given the really meaty assignments.”

“I’d say reporting on the royal tour is meaty, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose so, but I’d like to be given the job properly, rather than filling in for some man’s illness or accident.”

“I guess it’s a tough business being a woman in a mainly male profession.”

“Yes, but I mustn’t grumble. Look where I am!”

As we joked and laughed and talked about our jobs and our ambitions, I felt something between us shifting. Whatever it was—this thing growing between us—I liked it. It felt good to connect with someone who’d known me before I’d become grief-stricken Jack, the poor man who’d lost his wife so tragically young. My friendship with Olive was a bridge between worlds, and it somehow made me feel a little less broken in two.

“Maybe we should do this again sometime, when we’re both back in London?” I said.

Olive looked at me for a moment. “Do what? Test your recipes?”

“Perhaps. Or just... talk? Maybe you could do a piece about a young American chef making waves in the royal kitchens!”

She offered a small smile. “Maybe I will.”

“We don’t arrive home until May,” I said as I began to put things away. “And then I’ll be off to Balmoral for much of the summer, but we’ll have to make a plan, one day.”

A little of the light dimmed in her eyes. “Sounds like you have a busy year ahead. But, yes. I’d like to meet up again, one day, when you have time.”

I held up a glass of water and clinked it against hers. “It’s a date.” The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I’d said. “I mean, not a date as such. But a plan. Between friends.”

“Oh, Jack. You really must stop being such a romantic!” She placed her hand playfully to her heart and laughed lightly.

Mason and the rest of the crew trailed into the kitchen then, ready to start the next meal service. Mason caught my eye and raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Olive beside me.

I raised an eyebrow at him in return.

Olive knocked her glass against mine. “To plans. Between friends.”